


But Summer To Your Heart

by Akshi



Category: Good Wife (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 17:06:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akshi/pseuds/Akshi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A pair of vignettes. After and before the fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Summer To Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [summerstorm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerstorm/gifts).



She’s learned not to think about Will very often, because every time she does, she ends up thinking about Amber Madison. Whenever she thinks about Will, her stomach swoops upward, as though she’s just begun an ecstatic slide down from the peak of a very high rollercoaster. She feels briefly weightless, soaring in a blue void where everything is possible – love, commitment, marriage. Then she remembers that she’s still married. She remembers the way she felt when she heard the transcript of Peter’s sessions with Amber Madison. And then she wants to be sick. It’s like a Pavlovian reaction; it leaves her feeling numb, exhausted, like she’s run a marathon without ever moving a muscle.

So she’s learned not to think about Will too often.

This, though, this is easy, she thinks. Her fingers are working in Cary’s blond hair, gripping and pulling as his head moves, his tongue stroking between her thighs, wet, sloppy licks everywhere. He’s good at this, does it like he does everything else: expertly, with that sharp edge. He’s latched on to her clit now, sucking hard, making her hips jerk helplessly as her orgasm rolls over her in warm, endless waves. She slumps back in the armchair, taking deep breaths through her open mouth.

Cary’s looking at her now, smiling that creamy smile, pink lips glistening. She rubs her thumb over his bottom lip, brings it up to her mouth, tastes herself. He’s stopped smiling now. His eyes are heated and the front of his trousers is tented. She pulls him up to stand in front of her. Unzips his fly and pulls him out of his boxers. Touches her tongue delicately to the flushed head, again and again, tiny little licks, till – “Alicia, please,” he says. His tone borders on a whine. She smiles and stops teasing him, takes him in as far as she can and sucks hard, stroking the rest of his shaft in her hand.

Cary’s a vicious little shark. She’s never seen him do a single uncalculated thing or make an unnecessary move. So when he competes with her head on, works hard to cut her off at the knees, she takes it as a compliment. This, too, this strange thing where they fuck each other in no-brand motel rooms on ad hoc occasions, when she surprises that tight-lipped narrow-eyed look on his face that means that he wants to fuck her through the floor, this is also a compliment.

 It’s boxed off, separated by infinitely high walls from anything in the rest of their lives. This is only about both of them getting off. As simple and clean as two plus two. At times like this, with her world narrowed down to one concrete objective, head bobbing up and down his shaft, she could almost love him for it.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Alicia can see that she’s going to have to rescue Peter soon. He’s smiling, attentive, his posture relaxed; he probably seems completely at ease to everyone else. Sally’s standing a little too close to him, gesturing vehemently with her wine glass. The afternoon light glints off the row of chunky bracelets on her arm and fragments of the conversation are audible to everyone on the lawn. It’s about the divorce, of course. All Sally talks about these days is the divorce. Alicia rolls her eyes mentally, then immediately feels bad about it.

She likes Sally, she does. Sally is a warm, lovely woman and her soon-to-be ex-husband is a louse. It’s just…this is the fortieth time she’s heard Sally’s monologue about what a complete shit Danny is and how there wasn’t a single sign that anything was wrong and how hurt the kids are. Wild horses couldn’t make Alicia say it out loud, but she thinks: _of course_ there were signs. Even before the separation she’s never once seen Danny say something nice about Sally, never once seen him sling a casual arm around her shoulders or kiss her cheek.

Peter looks at her briefly: _Get me the hell out of here_. She smiles and crosses the lawn to where he stands. He winds his arm around her waist, his hand resting on her hip, and she leans against him. “Sally, can I get you a top-up?” she says. “I wouldn’t mind another glass myself.”

“I’ll get it, hon,” Peter says. “More of the Pinot Grigio, Sally?”

“Sure, thanks, Peter.”

They watch him go and then Sally turns to Alicia. “I was being a bore, wasn’t I?” She cuts through Alicia’s automatic denial, smiling ruefully. “No, I know. I can hear myself sometimes. It’s as though I’m outside my own head; I can hear this shrill voice and I’m just standing there going: Shut _up,_ woman! but I can’t seem to stop myself.”

Alicia puts an arm around Sally’s shoulders, squeezes gently.

“It’s just, you know, I look at you and Peter and I think, that was me and Danny five years ago. And I just…I don’t…it just changed.” Her voice is breaking. “And now I look at him and it’s like every good thing I ever felt about him is dead.”

Alicia tugs her towards the French doors. “Come on, let’s go sit inside.”

Hours later, after the guests have gone and they’ve put the wine glasses in the dishwasher, she sits at her dresser, unscrewing her earrings. She thinks about Sally again. Tries to picture Peter cheating on her and can’t imagine it. It’s too ridiculous. You can’t cheat on someone and still smile at them the way Peter looks at her, with that warm curve to his mouth and the heat in his eyes. She remembers when they first met, that tumultuous reaction she had from the beginning. How she’d immediately frozen up in response, aghast at how completely he was breaching her defences. It wasn’t like her to let people in easily. Her immediate instinct, to give him everything he wanted, anything he wanted – it had horrified her. She _had_ let him in, of course, but she still remembers how terrified she was. It was luck that she met Peter, luck that they fell in love and had stayed in love all these years later. She never forgets to be grateful for it.

**Author's Note:**

> Dear Yuletide recipient,
> 
> Erm, yeah, so this is another story for you. I wrote this one first and then realised you weren't particularly keen on Cary/Alicia. Still, I'd already written it, so I post it in the hopes that you might enjoy it.


End file.
